


One First Kiss, Before We Go

by smolMeeM



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Certain Death, Crossfaction, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Promises, mvm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23475850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolMeeM/pseuds/smolMeeM
Summary: When faced with certain death, BLU Spy makes his old rival a promise.
Relationships: BLU Spy/RED Sniper, Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 124





	One First Kiss, Before We Go

Lightning cracked the sky.  
Sniper used to love lightning. A presentation of nature’s raw strength, contained to strobing, blinding flashes, earsplitting, rib trembling booms.  
Now it signaled danger, just continuous discharge of electricity crackling around the Gray Robot’s mobile bases. He swallowed. He chugged his coffee. He tried not to jitter.  
They were all going to die.  
This was the last base. This was it. Death was coming. They were just waiting for it.  
He had thought about cutting his losses and running too many times, but there was no way he was going to sneak through the Gray Army. They had them backed against a mountain, just a partially caved in mine dug into the sheer cliffs. Unless he managed to scrounge up some climbing gear, avoid being executed by either of the team’s soldiers for desertion, and dodge the perfect aim of the SniperBots…  
He sank back against the wall of the trench, well, more of a bastard of a barricade and a trench. The last wave had leveled most of the furthest outbuildings, and the remaining engineer convinced them to fortify the trench the Soldiers were digging with whatever they could carry, then line that with sandbags. It was a varying height of around four feet. It would do little for cover but at least they were concealed enough from sniping as they prepared.  
The left end of the trench, in the shadow of a destroyed wall, was shallower. It was where they kept the fallen. Sniper kept his eyes away. He couldn’t remember whose bodies they were, or put faces to them. If he did, he might lose his nerve.  
They were just four human shaped lumps under a tarp now.  
He took out his weapon cleaning kit for the fifth time. He needed to keep busy.  
Around fire barrels further down the trench, the others had split themselves into groups, each of three or more, even his own BLU counterpart. He was the only one alone. RED Engineer had offered for him to join them. Sniper stubbornly refused, despite his insisting. It took a while of padsive refusal, but Engineer finally gave up and left him alone. Spending his time awkwardly listening to the others talk as he tried to keep himself in mental check was less than desirable. It would probably end up making it worse. And he didn’t need pity.  
“It needs another cleaning already?”  
He jumped, eyes snapping up to BLU Spy. He hadn’t seen him, or heard him, a common enough blunder. He released the breath he had been holding, but didn’t have a clever reply, “Yeah… well…” he gestured vaguely. “yknow.”  
“All too well,” he smirked. “May I sit?”  
He nodded.  
As Spy sat beside him, Sniper said, “I'll be honest with ya, mate, I was sure you would have found a way out of this by now.”  
“So did I, but alas.”  
At least with BLU Spy, he could be genuine. Especially after BLU and RED joined forces and they no longer had literal sights on each other. He’d never gotten close to any of his teammates, preferring to just be a quiet presence on the battlefield. They had respect for his abilities and he their’s, and that's all he need. More than that would make things messy.  
With BLU Spy, the mutual impulse to not be friends ended up with… something, genuine, not soft or clean but something unexpectedly raw and true. He didn’t care what BLU Spy thought of him, and that made it easier to be open. It established a strange personal trust where his teammates only got walls.  
“Cigarette?”  
“Please.”  
His hand trembled as he took the proffered cigarette, and he noticed BLU Spy was containing his nerves just as well as he lit it for him.  
Sniper inhaled the nicotine laden smoke into his lungs, trying to ignore them.  
“So,” he said as he exhaled the cloud of smoke. “This is it, yeah?”  
“Oui, I’m afraid so.”  
“Well… piss.”  
“Indeed.”  
“Fuck mate, I don’t wanna die.”  
“On that we can agree,” Spy nodded. He rested his cigarette arm on his knee, gesturing with his wrist. “At least, well… at least we got plenty of practice at it.”  
Sniper snorted. “Yeah, especially from each other.”  
“Naturally.”  
In the most visceral, intimate way, because of respawn, because of being mortal enemies, they knew each other to be human. It was a contradiction.  
“You think there's something after?”  
Spy blew smoke through his nose. “Something that we were prevented from seeing? We French are not very religious. But if the church is right, well, it's hell for me.”  
“I can say the same.”  
That I’m going to hell?” He smirked.  
If it had been anyone else he might have gotten internally flustered at the imprecision of his word choice. Instead he shrugged, “I’ll probably be right there with you.”  
“Any regrets?”  
“Never did get a border collie. I always wanted one.”  
BLU Spy stared for a moment. “We’re about to die, and you’re thinking about dogs.”  
“Oi! Not just any dogs, border collies are bloody brilliant, super smart and agile.”  
“Why didn’t you get one?”  
“Wot, keep a dog that intelligent in the middle of nowhere? With my team? With the battles going on?”  
“Your docteur has doves.”  
“Well the smart types always got preferential treatment too. I just shoot people from far away.”  
“You do it well.”  
“Not well enough now. Not to stop… this.”  
Spy swallowed discreetly. If Sniper hadn’t had his sidelong gaze fixed to his mouth rather than his eyes he might have missed it.  
Seeing Spy scared was too much. He had seen a single tear escape Heavy as he was writing a letter, presumably to his family. That was a lot to process. Seeing his former enemy, who had always been cool and collected, even wounded, was even worse. He didn’t know why, probably the same instinct that causes the entire herd to flee when one horse spooks.  
Sniper needed to pretend it wasn’t happening. That he was ready. If not ready, he could fill the void with anything, distracting from the inevitable. He dropped his head back against the wall, knocking his hat forward over his eyes.  
“There’s a lot of things I haven’t got to do yet. I always had the phrase ‘one more job’ stuck in my head. Then I got mixed up with RED and BLU and you know how that goes.”  
“All too well.”  
The silence was coming. The lightning discharge crackled in the distance. It sounded closer now, setting his teeth on edge.  
“I wanted to get married,” he continued with a bit of force, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach.  
“You? You’re such a loner.”  
“That don’t mean nothing. I wanted to get married, I don’t know to who though…” Spy chuckled at that. “Maybe buy some land. Maybe then me dad won’t be yapping at me. I saved up some, living rough like I do. But now that's…” he shook his head, throat going tight. “There were lots of things I wanted to do… Fuck mate, I haven’t even kissed a bloke yet.”  
Spy raised an eyebrow, turning to him. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”  
Sniper’s flushed to the color of his shirt. Why did that stumble from his mouth, of all things? It was true, since he first discovered sexuality, he just never found anyone who shared his curiosity. “Oi’ve had my first kiss! Just with a girl. Plenty of girls, I might add!”  
Spy smirked at his defensiveness. “But never a man?”  
“No…”  
“Well, I wouldn’t say such a thing surprises me, but…”  
“Shut up.”  
“I mean, the fact that you would want a man kissing you at all.”  
“Shut it.”  
“Sniper, this is the time I wouldn’t dare mock you.”  
“Yeah, sure.”  
“I’m being serious,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette butt thoughtfully. “And it so happens I never kissed an Australian.”  
“Wot?”  
“You know, Australian. Tall, speak in a bastardized british accent, kangaroo boxers.”  
“You never kissed one of us before?”  
“It's quite an isolationist country. Not many wander out among us australiumless.”  
“Huh, kinda figured that, well…”  
“Hm?”  
“I dunno,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “For some reason I thought you got with someone from everywhere.”  
“Well, not a bad assumption, but the bushy moustaches aren’t really my taste. I much prefer a clean shaven man.”  
Sniper blinked.  
“Oh.”  
“Someone like yourself.”  
“Oh… oh!” He sat up a little straighter, setting his rifle to the side. “You’re taking the piss out of me.”  
When he turned back Spy kissed him.  
His eyes widened, stiffening from the shock, but he melted into it with a sigh.  
He didn’t know what to do with his hands, he was too focused on Spy's mouth. Spy’s hand ran through his hair, pushing his slouch off to fall to the side.  
All of his senses were alight, on guard even as they drew into each other. Before, they only got this close with knives, with the intent to kill. Now their nerves were wary, making them hyper aware of every inch of each others bodies and touch. It was intoxicating.  
Sniper sank as Spy pressed in, until he was lying on his back. Spy continued, and Sniper finally had the sense to wrap his arms around him. Their chests touched. Sniper could feel his heartbeat, feel the heat rising, feel the hunger matching his own. He lifted his knee and found his leg brushed up against both Spy’s inner thighs. Spy sucked in a sharp breath, and pulled away.  
Sniper followed, not wanting for him to go but Spy placed a gentle hand on his chest to stop him.  
“If only we had the time, we would go further. Much further.”  
Sniper was dazed, barely able to breathe, or think. His words came tumbling from his mouth. “Fine, shag me after this.”  
“What, after the battle?”  
“Yeah,” he shifted up to a sitting position again. “If I’m gonna live, I gotta live for something. And if that’s what I’m looking forward to…”  
“Laying all our desires on the table, are we?” Spy said gently, his gaze traveling down to Sniper’s lips.  
“Wot we got to lose now?”  
“Fair point.” Spy thoughtfully puffed his cigarette, sitting back against the barricade himself. “You know what, if we live through this, I won’t just fuck you, I’ll marry you. If you take someone’s virginity, homosexual or otherwise, its only right, non? Make an honest man of you.”  
Sniper chuckled grimly. “I’ll hold you to that, y’know.”  
“I would expect so.”  
“Which one of us wears the dress?”  
“Well, we both already know I pull off a suit magnificently.”  
"If y'already look that good in a suit then imagine how bloody marvelous y'would be in a dress!"  
Spy snorted. “Non, non, that wasn’t the line logic you were supposed to follow.”  
“Well, I can’t wear the dress, I’d look like a demented spider drowning in frosting.”  
“Fine, we’ll figure out a compromise later.”  
“And Pyro will be the flower girl… boy… flower child?”  
Spy laughed. “Mine or yours?”  
“Both. Don’t want them getting jealous of each other.”  
“Guys?” it was the remaining Scout’s voice. He was perched up on the wall with binoculars. “Guy, its doin’ something. I think it’s opening!”  
All at once Sniper’s tentative mood shattered, the remains dropping to the bit of his stomach. His hands clenched into fists before the tremors could start.  
Spy had his jaw set, gaze miles away.  
“Guess we gotta get a move on,” Sniper said, standing and offering his hand to help him up.  
Spy didn’t look at him as he took it.  
Sniper didn’t dare offer assurances, and neither did Spy. So Sniper turned to pick up his slouch and rifle.  
“Sniper.”  
“Yeah?”  
“After all the ridiculousness our rivalry put us through, I’m glad to have met you.”  
“‘Ridiculousness’,” he muttered. “Yeah, that’s a word for it.”  
He tugged Spy back in for another kiss.  
They were not shy about it.  
They kissed like lovers, their hands exploring on their own accord. Sniper was vaguely aware of Spy moving his hands low, pulling their hips together. He stifled a throaty groan into his lips as he pressed in.  
Life and passion in the face of death. He wanted to feel every part of him, get so close they became one.  
He wanted this moment to last forever, it had to last forever.  
He wanted a lot of things.  
When they broke apart, they still held on, panting slightly, pressing their foreheads together. Sniper looked into Spy’s eyes, so blue, the first eyes he actively sought contact with, wanting to commit them to memory.  
“Uberbots! Scout swarm!”  
Sniper winced. The grim reaper had arrived.  
Spy had dissolved into blue mist.  
“Everyone to their positions!”  
Spy lingered a moment, before he slipped away from his arms, a transparent shimmer as he went.  
Don’t go. Please don’t go.  
The last moment of warmth, of affection, of care he’ll ever have again... gone, over too soon.  
He stood there, desperately trying to hold the memory, before readying his rifle. This was it.

~~~

He didn’t remember.  
As the room swam above him, fading in and out, grey and white and flesh, juxtaposed with blue and screams and darkness, sprays of red, showers of sparks, clanking of metal, explosions, lightning. His heart beat slowly, as he existed in detachment, everything happening on a t.v. or radio, and like static, without any meaning or context attached. Strange. Nothingness splotched over like a brush dripping paint, over his ears and eyes, no, the planes where he sensed.  
What was left folded into dreams. In a void, strangers found countless bodies on a wall of morgue tables. The strangers found their own, except one. That one ended up on a morgue tray, kicking the buttons on the front of the container. He was trying to find a way to get it to work. Was it a morgue or technology ? Had they discovered their bodies or were they trying to transport themselves? It felt green.  
The scene snapped to grey.  
His eyes had opened.  
White.  
Oh, he was dead.  
… but not blindingly white. Monitors beeped at his side.  
He sat up, slowly. He didn’t feel his body. He must be dead. That was the only thing that made sense. He was supposed to die. Everyone was. Even...  
Dull pinches held him in place, in his throat, by his nose, and his arm. He couldn’t get up, what kind of afterlife anchored you in one spot? Was that how hauntings start? Then what was he doing here?  
The rhythmic beeping turned to a flat whine. It hurt his ears… wait, hurt?  
He stared at it, taking the monitor in and finally identifying it.  
No, he was supposed to be dead. Just like the heartbeat monitor said.  
So when the nurse arrived, she breathed a side of relief. “Oh good, you’re just awake. Please, lay back down.”  
“You can see me?”  
“Yes, of course.”  
She guided him back down with her hand. “Well, the pain medication is doing its job, clearly,” she said as she reset the cardiac patch on his chest.  
As she was fixing the I.V. She said, “You were airlifted from a different hospital since the trauma you received was too much for them to handle. You’re now at Sacred Heart Hospital in San Antonio.”  
“Wait, what about the others?”  
“Others? I’m not aware…”  
“A bunch of foreigners… they were there too Frenchman. Have you taken in any Frenchmen?”  
“No, sir, not that I…?”  
“Scottish, German?”  
“Sir, you were brought here alone, to the best of my knowledge.”  
Alone.  
The word echoed through his mind.  
Alone.  
He was used to being alone, he already went through losing teammates in the field.  
Alone. Every man he fought with and against… dead.  
BLU Spy was…  
He sank back into his bed, shivering as his soul chilled. He pressed his hand to his eyes.  
“Sir… is there anyone you’d like for us to contact?”  
~  
His parents were relieved he was alive, especially after the last goodbye he had left on their answering machine. They wanted him back in Australia, even though it wasn't possible. Still, he had to make what they both knew was an empty promise to his mother that he'd find a way.  
What was he going to do now? He had no job, no friends in this country, he had no skills, other than shooting and sheep ranching. His van, and all of his worldly possessions within, probably didn’t even exist anymore. He hadn’t planned on living. He had all his affairs in order. But he survived. Now he was lost, drowning in doubt and directionlessness.  
Well, he did plan a little, sort of, for this. Not that it had been feasible. Not that it mattered.  
A new wound tore open inside every time he thought of it.  
After a week, he was able to walk short distances, to the annoyance of the doctor. They had pulled eight bullets out of him, repaired a nerve bundle and set a fractured leg. He didn’t remember how he got the injuries. He was sure he didn’t want to.  
Every day he asked about a frenchman, or a skinny man who came in around the same time for similar injuries. Knowing nothing, they had given him the number to the hospital he was transferred from. They knew about as much.  
To be fair, he didn’t have much description to give. It hit home every time he remembered he didn’t know what first man he kissed looked like beneath the mask. He knew him by gait, by how he carried himself, the air he had about him, his voice, even his scent. All subtleties he didn’t have the eloquence to describe.  
He was gone. Just like all the others, there was no trace to be found. How he himself was still alive in a hospital, he had no idea.  
“I cheated death,” he had mumbled many times.  
One day the nurse knocked on the open door. “Mr. Mundy, there’s someone here to see you.”  
He sat bolt upright, his wounds threatening to reopen.  
But instead of blue or red or even overalls dusted by the bush, it was a white lab coat. Just another white coat, not even the slightest familiar beige. Turns out the hospital staff had gotten concerned about his mutterings. They had sent him the inhouse psychiatrist.  
“It's perfectly normal to have survivorship guilt. Especially after losing so many people at once under such traumatic circumstances,” he had said.  
He hadn’t told them how he got shot, burned, and brutalized, even after the few times they pressed him for details. All they got was the clues given by his wounds, and that seventeen men had died.The psychiatrist got just as much, Sniper barely spoke to him, other than convince him to prescribe sleeping pills. It was easier to sleep the day away.  
He was in one of these sleeping binges when he was awoken by a knock at the door.  
“Mr. Mundy.”  
He didn’t look up. He didn’t even open his eyes. “What?”  
“There’s someone to see you.”  
“Tell ‘em to piss off.”  
“Sir?”  
“I don’t want to see no more doctors.”  
“But…”  
“Or therapists or coppers. Bugger off.”  
“Mr. Mundy, I’m *very* sure you want to see him.”  
He didn’t answer.  
“Mr. Mundy?”  
“Argh, fine.”  
He rolled onto his back, jaw clenched, staring up at the ceiling.  
“Bon jolie, bushman.”  
Sniper’s head snapped up.  
A suited man was in his room, carrying a box.  
He was hobbling on a cane. His right eye was covered in a medicinal eyepatch. Several scars spread out from beneath it like angry spider veins, still red from being freshly healed.  
Sniper squinted at him. Despite only knowing one man missing an eye, there was something familiar about this man.  
The way he carried himself, despite the cane, the air about him, despite the lack of mask.  
“Spook?” Sniper whispered.  
“Bushman.”  
“BLU Spy...” he blinked. “Right?” He was not truly comprehending it. He realized he barely had any comprehension of the past month.  
Spy nodded, “Who else?”  
“You have so much hair.”  
Spy snorted. “That would be the first thing you noticed about me.”  
“I wasn’t expecting it to be ruddy brown.”  
“Non? A dark, mysterious Spy not having a soul as well?”  
He cracked a small grin as he shifted to prop his back against the wall, wincing as he did so. “You’re not that ginger, you can tan. How’d you find me?”  
“I have my ways,” Spy said. He lifted the box a little to bring attention to it. “I have something for you. You would not believe how much smuggling and charming was involved.”  
“What is it?”  
“You’ll see.”  
“C’mere then,” Sniper reached out and patted the edge of the bed.  
Now that he came closer, he saw the tanlines that hadn’t quite faded just yet. He remembered his left eye, so blue just as he committed to memory. Spy sat, placing the box on Sniper’s lap. His body was warm against Sniper’s leg.  
It wasn’t weighted right, whatever was in the box, but it moved, making skritching sounds. The top was already opened and moved. Sniper gave Spy a questioning look before he pushed back the flaps.  
A little furry head popped out. Black with a white muzzle and tiny flopped ears. The border collie puppy looked around, sniffing.  
“You didn’t…” his voice cracked. “Mate, you didn’t.”  
“I did.”  
His eyes became misty as he picked the puppy up. She squirmed, then recognized him as a friend She wagged her tiny tail, licking tentatively. He held her close, and she licked his chin and cheek.  
All at once he was grounded. He slammed back into reality. He was Roy Mundy. He loved animals, he was an outdoorsman, an excellent shot, a professional, a survivor. This was real. His life before the hospital was real. This was real. He existed. He was alive.  
He could feel.  
Alot, he clenched his teeth as he buried his face into her fur, trying to swallow down the pain in his throat. She was warm, he could feel her heartbeat, tiny and fast, her affectionate whimpers as she squirmed to get a better angle for licks.  
“She urinated on me when I first picked her up,” Spy said with a teasing long-suffering tone. “That’s how I knew she was the one for you.”  
Sniper snorted. He wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. The puppy did her best to help, now pawing at his chin and squirming in his hands to get back close.  
“This is too much, mate.”  
“I would argue it's not enough.”  
Sniper dragged him into a hug, pressing his eyes into his shoulder. The puppy gnawed on his jaw. His voice wavered, “I thought you were dead.”  
“And I you,”  
“I tried.”  
“I know.”  
“I tried but I was stuck here. I called so many hospitals.’  
“I know, Sniper.”  
“Roy. M’name’s Roy.”  
“Roy.”  
Hearing his French tongue curve over the syllable was pure bliss. He grinned like a madman as the puppy switched lick targets between their faces.  
“Je m’appelle Léonce.”  
He grinned, a laugh of surprise escaping him. “Leonce?”  
“Very close,'' he said as he hugged Roy, rubbing small circles on his back. He kissed his cheek .  
Sniper started for a moment, then turned his head for a kiss. They broke off into a laugh as the border collie tried her best to join in on the affection.  
Léonce sat back, letting the puppy have Roy to herself.  
“I…” he cleared his throat. “I’m more than willing to keep my promises to you, if you still hold me to them.”  
“I do,” Sniper broke into a grin, wetness escaping as he blinked.  
“As for marriage,” Spy said, wiping away the wayward drop. He paused, then cleared his throat, “Could we perhaps go on a few dates first? One step at a time?”  
“Yeah…” he laughed. “Of course, mate.”


End file.
